


Stop The World

by Katey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Drunklock, First Kiss, JohnlockChallenges Exchange, M/M, Prompt Fill, Stag Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 13:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1187712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katey/pseuds/Katey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Emotions are a rollercoaster, alcohol is the fuel and Sherlock just wants to get out.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Too bad they locked the cell.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop The World

**Author's Note:**

> This one's for [notfittodig](http://notfittodig.tumblr.com/), based on the lovely prompt for the johnlockchallenges’ Valentine's Day gift exchange!  
>  _“The events of John’s “lost Wednesday” (as alluded to in TSoT), or more drunken fun.”_  
>  The lost wednesday didn't work out, I'm so sorry... :( And I don't know if this could be considered _fun_. It has drunken Sherlock and of course he had an entirely different idea of what to tell in this story. ;D
> 
> I hope you like it!

It was short of a wonder that they hadn’t been thrown into a cell earlier that evening, considering the almost-fight over the ash on the sleeve of that one bulky guy (he had been cheating on his girlfriend! With a bloke! That wasn’t the guy’s usual brand of tobacco, just for a start, and if just someone would have _listened_ to him they wouldn’t have been thrown out before they could finish their beer!). Being manhandled by a grumpy police officer hadn’t been on Sherlock’s agenda for the night, but neither was the fuzzy feeling or the spinning of the world in general. Something... Something was definitely wrong. According to his calculations they shouldn't be half as drunk as they were. Simple maths. Maths and... some serious deductions about height and weight and... estimations on tolerance? He couldn't remember.

The world wouldn't stop spinning.

He paced the few feet of space in their shared drunk cell, step by step, plank bed to door and back. The brief washing they'd allowed him after his embarrassing misbehaviour on that fluffy carpet had done a great deal for his general feeling of hygiene and unfortunately next to nothing for his state of inebriation. He really wanted to lie down, close his eyes and try to delete the whole affair well and truly.

The world wouldn't stop spinning and the other presence in the room wouldn't stop flashing angry glares at him, shocking him out of his quest for concentration every few minutes.

"Would you please tune down the volume of your thoughts? You're distracting me," he murmured exasperated while leaning against the cold concrete. Too much spinning. Walking in circles added more spinning. Stupid idea.

"I'm what?"

"Distracting me. You heard me perfectly well."

"Oh, I am _so_ sorry. Were you having a breakthrough? Or are you just trying to remember some of the details you gathered while having a little nap on the carpet?" The voice on his left had a dangerous touch of drunken sarcasm.

“I don’t see how this…”

“No, of course you don’t see how this is your fault. We’re in a cell. All was well until that client showed up and you decided to take her case out of… what? Affection?” A mirthless little laugh.

“I didn’t hear you raise any objections, did I?” he deflected. Affection because of Tessa’s story? That one hit too close home on so many levels.

“Oh, so now this is _my_ fault? Let me tell you something, Mr. Consulting Detective.” Suddenly there were hands, slamming into the wall next to his head, and a furious face in front of his own. Everything happened a bit outside the timeline. When had John moved so fast? “You. You dictated my life from the day we met. I followed, blindly and willingly. But it’s time for that to change, you know?”

“And what exactly are you planning to do about it? Punch me again?” His voice edged towards desperation more than he was willing to admit.

"Sherlock. This can't go on. I'm getting married."

"I know."

"I can't come running at every bored whim of yours."

"I know."

"I can't come looking for you when you decide to disappear undercover again. I can't sa..."

"I know, John." He really wanted him to stop talking. The direction this whole speech took didn't appeal to him at all.

"I can't save you from yourself, Sherlock." John's face was entirely too close, his voice too quiet and the emotion behind it too raw. Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he could close his ears as well, shutting all of this out until the moment passed away. But apparently the universe wouldn't do him a service today. The universe as a whole had been rather lazy since his return from the dead, what with giving his best friend a fiancé that tolerated, even _liked_ him and encouraged their friendship, the danger his profession brought upon them. Encouraged Sherlock's hope and longing, either not being aware or choosing not to tell anyone, playing a secret game on her own. He couldn’t figure out the reasoning behind that – just focusing on the hard facts was a challenge. John and Mary were getting married. This was John's stag night. With his best friend, the man who had spent too much time (and an accidental alerting of half the police force) writing him a best man's speech for said wedding.

They were drunk. And John hadn’t moved at all.

“The urge to kiss you is getting harder to ignore,” he whispered, a bit surprised at hearing his own words. Not according to plan. Not at…

“Then I suggest you stop ignoring it.”

His eyes flew open.

-

He didn’t know if John remembered the last night. Being woken by a gloating Lestrade, still a bit wobbly, John walking away to gather their stuff… He wouldn’t ask him, of course not. His own memory too lively, too close under the surface.

_Lips on his own, eyes closing again without any conscious decision to do so. A broken noise in the back of a throat (his own?), fingers in his hair, unsaid words on his tongue._

The world wouldn’t stop spinning.


End file.
